The Chronicles of Avalea: The One With the Shoe
by AndHerNameWasAnastasia
Summary: In The Chronicles of Avalea, you will find the classic stories you know and love, but told in a way that you have never heard them. In this first installment, follow Aurélie Leon, a princess you definitely know, through her journey to find a better lot in life than the one she's been handed. And she might find her Prince Charming, but she can save herself, thank you very much.
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**A/N: So a new story... Alright this is the first installment of The Chronicles of Avalea, a magical kingdom of my own design. In the Chronicles of Avalea, you will find the stories of many downtrodden princesses who take their lives into their own hands- mostly without the help of a certain Prince Charming, and they make their situations better. These stories are modeled after the well-known and well-loved classic Grimm, Anderson, and Disney fairytales that I'm certain you are familiar with. This story is the story of Aurélie, and you will soon see which princess she most identifies with. You'll also see that all of these princesses are related in some way, by blood or marriage. I hope you enjoy the first installment of The Chronicles of Avalea: The One with the Fire**

**Love always,**

**Anastasia**

Genevieve Amonet lived a luxurious life as a courtier of the castle. Her mother was a lady to the queen, and the princess Amelia was her best friend next to her cousin Nicolle. Life could not be grander for the three friends, as they grew together and enjoyed one another's company, for as children, this was their only duty.

When Genevieve was sixteen, Henri arrived. The Duke of Perdington, a small but wealthy community, was just a bit older than the three girls and was adored by many, including Genevieve. The moment she saw him, she knew that he was the one whom she would marry, but through the scheming of elder forces, it was Nicole who came to be betrothed to Henri.

Genevieve loved Nicolle like a sister, but she was in love. In time, she discovered that Henri loved her as well, and the day before the wedding, the ordeal was called off, in favor for a new courtship of the no-longer-bride-to-be's cousin, Genevieve.

This was the end of their friendship. Nicolle married elsewhere, out of the scope of the castle grounds, but Genevieve and the princess Amelia remained great friends. In fact, they were each other's maids of honor.

Genevieve lived with her love, Henri Leon, as the Duchess of Perdington, in a beautiful manor with ivy-covered walls and climbing trellises of roses. Soon they began a family. Their first daughter, Beatrice, had dark hair like her father, and his wide blue eyes, and her smile was angelic as a sunrise. Not even a year later, they were blessed with a second daughter, Aurélie, with the same light blue eyes, but a crown of golden hair that curled around her face. Three years later, their last child, Henri II arrived, with his mother's golden hair and clear grey eyes.

The family could not have been any happier. Meanwhile, the Queen Amelia was also blessed with a son, Louis, the spitting image of his mother, with tan skin and chocolate brown hair and eyes. Aurélie and Louis became fast friends. The King would often hunt in the forests by the manor, and he would leave Louis in the care of the Duke and Duchess. Aurélie and Louis would walk to the creek with the fast current and dangle their feet in the water, watching small tadpoles and algae float by.

Life was a pleasant wash of robin's egg blue, seemingly endless and rich as a real robin's egg. Aurélie, whom she had taken to calling Elle, Beatrice, and Henri, both father and son, were content with this peaceful existence, but without warning of any kind, their wash of blue was replaced with no color at all as disaster struck.

In the brisk wind of fall, a fire had been lit in the downstairs kitchen, and left unattended. It spread quickly, catching the whole manor alight. Genevieve was in the garden, a cloak wrapped around her shoulders, when she saw the flames lick at the windows. She raced inside to a scene of pure havoc, as people raced about trying to quench the flames, but they proved too great. Smoke stung Genevieve's eyes and sent her back out to the gardens in a fit of coughs. She saw Henri, on his little toddler legs, race out of the back drawing room, his hand pressed into six-year-old Beatrice's. Beatrice was always so responsible, and Genevieve knew she could always trust her eldest daughter to do the trustworthy thing, but Elle always seemed to be off in space, taking a stroll in the endless corridors of her own mind. She was pensive, but self-righteous almost to a fault. Where was she?

Genevieve saw her husband racing out of the house, but Elle was nowhere to be seen.

She thundered towards the door, desperate to reach her child, whom she just knew was somewhere in those swirling flames, scared and alone, but her arms were torn from their sockets as her servants held her back. They were loyal to their mistress, and didn't want to see her perish in the fire.

The entire population of the manor congregated on the grass, far from the smoke and flames. The entire population save for one, small, six-year-old girl.

Genevieve shook in the arms of her husband, Beatrice's hand on her shoulder, and she mourned for her little girl, whom she knew she would never see again. If only she'd stared at her face a bit longer; if only she'd memorized the depth of her blue eyes and the white of her hair just a bit closer.

Her little Aurélie, her precious Elle, buried in the cinders.

**The next chapter will be posted some time next weekend, and I assure any readers of my previous works that I will be on time for this series because I've already written nearly a quarter of the story. I hope you enjoyed and see you next weekend (New York time)!**

**-Ana**


	2. Chapter 2: As the Years Go By

**A/N: So this is the first technical chapter of The One with the Shoe. It's sort of filler, but I wanted you all to see what life was like for Aurélie living with the Derniers. Obviously, it's not fun. It should be pretty clear by now which fairytale this story is based on, and I apologize for its shortness.**

**-Ana**

Elle remembered very little when she woke. She didn't know where she was, but her head was throbbing profusely, and she was covered in soot and ash. She couldn't remember anything from before when she woke, and she was in a mysterious, strange place. The one thing she could remember for certain was the echo of a name she knew was hers. Her arm ached, and something was dripping into her eyes. She held her hand to her cheek, and it came back stained with red, and she felt the pain hit her like a wall. Tears formed in the corners of her eyes, and she tried to breathe, but the ash swept into her mouth. The sky above was dark with stars, and she stood up, staring heavenwards. The map of constellations swirled above her, in and out of focus, as she rose to her feet and took off at an unstable limp, towards what appeared to be a road. When she reached the dirt, she fell to her knees, and red drops stained the brown dust of the road. She stood once more and wobbled down the road slowly, searching for a sign of anyone to help her. The night was quiet and blank, a clean slate of nothing but inky black sky, parallel to darkened ground.

She walked up hills and past valleys of green, until she found the first sighting of help.

A small cottage sat on a tall hill at the top of a path leading off of the road, a meager garden boxing it in. The forest continued below, teeming with the things that go bump in the night, and Elle hobbled slowly towards the cottage, a lamp lit in the doorway.

When she climbed to the top of the hill, she limped to the door and rapped so quietly on the warped wood that she couldn't be sure if anyone would hear her.

The woman who answered the door was intimidating. She was miles taller than six-year-old Elle, with wiry brown hair with strands of grey here and there. It was pulled tightly from her forehead and prodded into a tight bun, but it pulled the rest of her features skyward. Her squinting eyes were a clear blue that Elle felt were familiar, but she couldn't place where she'd seen them. The woman's face was lined with just the faintest of wrinkles, but she had the ghost of smiles she might've once made painted on her lips. Now, a combination of age and many years of frowning had thinned her lips into a hard, pale line.

She stared down at Elle with distaste, paying no mind to her injuries and instead, focusing on the blonde hair she knew so well, in combination with the blue eyes she used to love. She stepped outside and stared down the road, towards where she'd seen the smoke waft to the sky hours earlier. She'd seen the house burn, and she'd felt a perverse pleasure in seeing Genevieve get her comeuppance. Genevieve herself had always said, 'those who plant with stolen seeds will find their garden choked with weeds.' Those who commit the sin will never reap the benefits.

The woman now saw this proof in the face of the young girl, an ugly cut marring her beautiful features. She knew this girl, for she was the spitting image of her mother. The question was what to do with her.

In the end, as she stared into those wide blue eyes, her conscience performed a reappearance, and she opened the door wider to let the girl in.

Elle saw two girls behind the tall woman when she opened the door. They were peering behind the legs of their mother, curious to the stranger at the door. One was tall, a bit older than Elle, with beautiful red-gold hair that curled past her shoulders, but pinched brown eyes like her mother's that made her look much like a mouse. She was stick thin, with cream white skin that had never seen the sun. In contrast to the taller girl's unnaturally thin figure, the other girl seemed positively obese. In all seriousness, she was the picture of a healthy weight, but when she stood next to her rail-thin relatives, she became unusually overweight. She had chocolate brown hair, unlike her sister's red-gold, and round doe eyes that looked significantly nicer than her sister's. Her face was as pale as her sister's, with not even a freckle to mar her complexion, and it was clear that these girls were spoilt by their mother.

Their mother let Elle into the house, and though Elle didn't know it, her life was about to start over again, as if she'd never had a different family at all.

Age Seven

Her first year with Nicolle Darnier and her daughters, Perfinia and Calliope, was rather uneventful. Nicolle was hard to understand to Elle, because at some moments, she acted sweetly to her, but at others, she was horrid.

Perfinia, however, was just horrible all the time. She'd trip Elle as she carried her laundry or dirty dishes, and teased her by calling her Cinderella, from when she first arrived at their door, covered in ashes. The name stuck to the point where only Calliope still called her Elle. Calliope was a small relief to Elle. When the two were alone, they were friends, but as soon as Perfinia or Nicolle intruded, she would shrink into herself as they scolded her for distracting Elle from her chores. Elle's temper would often flare, but she would never let it show, for she soon learned that Madame Darnier held her own children higher than Elle, and would side with Perfinia each and every time.

The chores themselves didn't bother Elle too much. She learned how to weed the garden and wash the dishes and, later, aid Madame Darnier with the meals. It was soothing, something to take her mind off of the blank space before she woke up in those ruins.

She asked Madame Darnier if she knew who Elle really was, but she didn't answer, and when Elle pressed further, she went off on a rage, and she left Elle to burn the dinner by herself. When Elle even tried to sneak out and visit the ruins on her own, Perfinia caught her at the door, and Madame Darnier smacked her hard across the face. She didn't attempt to leave again.

The cut on her face the arced over her right eye had faded into a pink scar, only noticeable by its color, and it was a clean curve over her brow, ending even with her nose.

Age Nine

Her hair reached to her waist, and Madame Darnier sat her in front of the fire and cut it with her sewing sheers, the ones she used to mend clothes.

It was then, when Madame was in a good mood, that Elle asked where a Monsieur Darnier might have gone.

Madame Darnier laid her hands on Elle's shoulders as Elle stared at the fire crackling. Madame didn't speak for a many moments, but Elle laid her hand on her shoulder on top of Madame's, and she turned and stared into her eyes, and something in Madame seemed to thaw.

She smiled just briefly. "The only man I ever loved was taken from me, and the man that I ended up with could never hold a candle." She paused. "He left me with two children that I would not be able to care for without his money, but I did not cry at his funeral."

Elle nodded. She didn't quite understand, but she could hear an underlying tone of sadness in Madame's voice that she rarely heard.

Age Ten

At age ten, Elle had grown into a very beautiful child, her golden hair brightening in the sunshine. This led Perfinia to treat her even worse, perhaps out of jealousy, although Perfinia would be even more beautiful if she ever thought to smile. Instead, it seemed her features were set in constant frown.

Age Eleven

Elle enjoyed wandering about the house in her spare time, when she was alone, and she one day found herself in front of Madame's imposing oak doors, with carved panels with the likeness of roses on the vine.

She had never ventured into Madame's room, but Madame was gone.

She pushed the door open with as much strength as she could muster, and wandered into the largest room in the house.

The bed was large, with a velvet purple canopy and a gilt vanity in the corner. Sitting on the vanity was a peculiar stack of paper next to a bulging velvet sack. Elle had merely a peek at the inside of the bag before Madame, who had returned from the store without Elle's notice, and flew into the room in a rage.

She smacked Elle hard in the jaw, and Elle raced out in tears, but as Calliope rubbed salve on the purple bruise, Elle couldn't help what a velvet sack of gold coins, far more than Elle knew they owned, would be doing on Madame's vanity.

Nevertheless, she tried to put it out of her mind, and she never ventured into Madame's private room again.

Age Fourteen

The nearby village boys had sometimes witnessed Elle gardening, and would stare from the top of the hill at the beautiful girl who never left the cottage, the one with the mysterious scar that did little to hide her beauty. When she caught them staring, she would gently wave. But if they were to whistle or jeer, she would throw rocks with scary accuracy, and they would run away.

Although she was beautiful, she had a temper that could not be tested on any but Perfinia and Madame Darnier. She was hotheaded, but she was not stupid enough to challenge either of them.

Elle kept track of her birthdays on a piece of broken tile that had fallen from the chimney. Elle had used a broom handle to get rid of a robin's nest and the eggs had fallen and landed on Elle's arms, little flecks of blue mixed with the goo of the yolk. It took nearly half of the bar of grainy wheat soap that Elle had made to wash off the slimy feeling.

She spent the rest of that day making another bar, in fear that Madame would need a bar and not have one.

**A/N: Again, sorry for the short length! You can expect the next chapter next weekend, New York time, and that's when stuff will really start to pick up!**

**-Ana**


	3. Chapter 3: A Chance Encounter

Age Seventeen

At age seventeen, she was approaching the age when her parents were supposed to go searching for a husband, but Madame had no interest in that.

Instead, Elle remained inside the house at all times, save for weeding the garden and short walks from the cottage to the creek to wash clothes without wasting drinking water.

June sprung from May with the heat of a forge fire, and in favor of the tiresome and hot work of making soap in front of the fireplace, Elle preferred to spend her time in the garden, planting flowers she spotted on the way from the creek to the house. In the middle of the month, she realized that her eighteenth birthday was nearly a month away. She paused.

Had it really been almost twelve years since she arrived at the steps of the Darniers? It felt like time had passed at the rate of one sunset.

Elle stood up and stretched her arms, enjoying the pops of her muscles. Walking towards the cottage, Elle pushed open the wooden door and walked inside, wiping her bare feet gently on the wooden floor to make sure she didn't leave any tracks.

The cottage was quiet, as Madame and the girls were in town purchasing necessities, so Elle was free to take a walk to the creek and relax for an hour or two. She would be sure to bring a sack of dirty laundry as well, just so Madame wouldn't scold her for wasting time.

She also filled a burlap sack with an apple, bruised, a stale slice of bread, and a sliver of goat cheese to add taste to the bread as a lunch. She walked down the hill and to the tree line, with its fragrant pines, mixed in with deciduous leaf-bearing trees. The thick forest cover formed a cool shade from the sun.

She could walk the route to the creek with her eyes closed, so she strolled with little worry to where she tread, whistling a familiar tune as she walked, swinging her two bags.

When she reached the creek, she sat on a boulder that hung over the edge and dangled her toes in the just reachable water as she ate her lunch. When she was finished, she moved down to the creek bed and kneeled in the water, scrubbing the clothes with the grain soap. She finished quickly, and had time to lie in the grass by the creek, listening to the stories it told as it babbled and the wind's whispers.

Eventually, her eyes started to drift closed, and she slipped into a peaceful unconsciousness.

The babbling of the creek woke something in her. A memory, but not complete. She could only hear the words and feel the wind and an arm around her shoulders.

A man's voice like a piece of fine velvet speaking softly, as water bubbled over her feet.

He was singing.

_Welcome to the river._

_Wash your feet and soak your sores._

_Clear as looking glass or crystal,_

_This is what God made it for:_

_The water can heal your wounds_

_And the air will help you sleep,_

_But be sure to keep your head up_

_If the river gets too deep._

_Here live birds to cheer your spirits_

_And soft earth to lay your bones,_

_But you must always leave the river—_

Elle knew this song, but it was like a window fogged with mist that she couldn't quite see through, a door shut to her. And the last line, it was missing, an empty space where words should go, words she should know.

Elle would have continued pleasantly dreaming, but the sound of twigs snapping startled her awake, and she leapt to her feet, the tail of her braid swinging behind her back.

The sky was fading to a light orange, and Elle realized she had let the time slip far past the time she'd intended. Madame would be furious.

She had grabbed her bags and the now dry clothes, and was just about to race away from the creek when she heard it: a light groan, like someone in pain.

Elle turned back to the creek and looked closer to where she thought the sound had come from. Across the creek, just in the trees, there was the distinct form of a horse, and its rider seemed to have been thrown from its back.

The rider was slowly stirring on the dirt, and Elle worried over whether she should go to them or go home to face Madame's wrath. It wasn't such a hard decision to make. Help a hurt horse rider, or face a beating from Madame?

She swiftly placed her bags on the boulder she'd sat on earlier, and waded into the creek up to her knees, pulling her skirts above the strong current. She stayed in the shallow parts to make sure she didn't get pulled under the water.

When she made it to the other side, she pulled herself from the creek water and moved towards the figure just stirring in the dirt.

When she looked closer, she gasped.

The royal crest was on the sheath of his sword. She peered at his features. Tan skin, dark brown hair, and around her age. He could only be one person.

Prince Louis.

She moved a little bit back, but she saw a cut on his forehead, and she surmised he probably would appreciate it more if she were to help at him rather than stare at him in fear.

She used the empty bag she'd toted her food in to wet in the river, and slowly wiped the cut dry. He opened his eyes to see her hovering over his face, and he jumped back.

"Who're you to touch the prince?"

Elle paused. "Excuse me? I was trying to help you."

The prince stood and frowned at her simple clothes, but when he reached her face, he started. He must have noticed her scar.

Elle knew she was being stupid, but she knew that when she went home, she was facing a beating, and she would have to be subservient to Madame, and she didn't want to hide her temper any longer.

"Excuse me? I'm talking to you!" She crossed her arms and waited for him to stop gazing at her.

He cocked his head. "Do I know you?"

Elle scoffed. "Hardly. I've never spoken with another person but the people who live in our cottage on the hill. Now what are you doing here? This is hardly royal hunting ground."

He scratched his chin then ran a hand through his hair, muttering to himself, but he didn't respond to Elle.

She coughed. "Ahem."

He turned and assessed her once more.

"What is your name?"

"Why should I tell you?"

He groaned. "Stop being difficult. You know I could have you executed and not lose sleep over it, so just tell me who you are and I will consider letting your disgrace slide."

Elle sneered, but chose not to call the prince's bluff. "My name is Elle."

His face fell. "Oh."

This time, Elle was truly curious. "What? Are you disappointed?"

He rubbed his neck and shook his head. "No, I just thought you were someone else. You… you look like an old friend I once had."

Elle's eyebrows rose. She looked like a friend of the prince's, and his only friends must be members of the court. She was curious to think how she could possibly look like a lady in torn skirts and bare, calloused feet, a scar on her cheek.

"I suppose I should feel gratified, but I can't imagine why you would confuse me with someone important enough to be a friend of a royal."

He scoffed. "Well, you're hardly a hag. You could resemble royalty if you cleaned up a bit."

Elle's mouth dropped open. "Did you really just say that to me? You know, I don't think you should be telling your subjects what they could stand to improve on when you can't even control a horse."

This angered the prince, and his face reddened in frustration. He scoffed. "Yes, well at least I can afford proper footwear!" He turned away. "Just leave me; I will not be so lenient should we argue while I am king."

Elle shook her head and frowned. "I would be concerned if your coronation weren't for years."

"If only that were true… My father is sick and weak and his last wish is to see me married, and then he will die in peace. He deserves peace."

Elle did not argue this point, for the prince's father was a good, fair king, and a wise man. Elle did not know that he was ill, but Elle knew very little about the goings-on of the kingdom, since she was corralled daily in the cottage.

This didn't mean she was going to drop her argument.

"I'm sorry to hear that, I truly am. But it would be wise if you did not take your frustrations out on innocent commoners."

The prince sighed and sat on a rock, his head in his hands. It was clear that this boy, no older than Elle herself, had no desire to take the throne.

Elle decided that this was her cue to leave the prince to his thoughts. "I am sorry about your father. I will go."

He stood. "No, it's alright. I needed someone to tell me I was being arrogant."

She smiled. "I wouldn't say arrogant. More like… self-entitled."

He chuckled, and his eye caught on the scar on her cheek. He looked closer.

"Where did you get this?"

Elle covered her scar with her hand and jumped back. She didn't like explaining it to people, not that she ever had to. But she didn't like the idea of telling someone her absurd story, so she shook her head.

"It's nothing. I have to go."

And with that, she took off at a sprint towards the outskirts of the forest, right through the creek, leaving the prince very confused.

**A/N: Next chapter will be posted next weekend, New York time.**


	4. Chapter 4: An Unfortunate Coincidence

**A/N: So this chapter is s-h-o-r-t. So sorry! But it's leading up to long one, so hopefully you all don't hate me TOO much.**

**Luvs,**

**Ana**

Elle did receive a beating from Madame Darnier, but it wasn't so bad. All she was left with was a small cut on her face and a few bruises from where Madame grabbed her arm. In the end, Madame was just annoyed, but seemed okay once she found out that Elle had done laundry while she was at the creek.

The next day, she was woken up by a sharp knock on the door, early, when the sky was still orange with the newborn sun. She opened the door to see a royal messenger, and behind him, at the bottom of the hill, a royal carriage. The door to the carriage opened, and the royal advisor to the prince stepped out and approached the house. Elle could see the prince sitting in his carriage, and stepped back into the shadows of the house.

He joined the messenger by the door and looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"The prince is requesting the presence of all young women in this area to join him for a ball in three weeks time. The Duke and Duchess of Perdington and their children are visiting, and this ball is being thrown in their honor."

This brought Madame down the stairs and rushed to the door, pushing Elle out of the way.

"What is this about a ball for the Duke and Duchess?"

The royal advisor puffed up his chest and cleared his throat, and the messenger presented a scroll to Madame.

"The Duke and Duchess of Perdington are returning once more to Andonna after eleven years spent abroad, attending to the schooling of their children, Beatrice and Henri, and performing various diplomatic duties in the name of his Highness King Renault. They return to Andonna to rebuild their permanent residence just down the road after it burnt to the ground eleven—"

"I understand. Why are the commoners being extended invitation?" Madame cut the royal advisor off before he could finish his sentences, most likely out of irritation, and at this time, Perfinia and Calliope appeared from their rooms, dressed in their nightgowns, while Elle had slept in her dirty skirt and blouse.

"Apparently the prince encountered a woman in the forest that he wishes to meet again, and he requested that all women living in the area around the forest are to be extended the invitation and demands that all attend. Even the servants." He looked pointedly at Elle, and she crossed her arms.

Madame grinned. "A woman in the forest, you say? Well, how intriguing… we will be sure to attend this ball."

Madame closed the door on the royal advisor and his messenger.

When she turned, her face was pinched in an ugly way, as if she had smelled something particularly foul, and it was the indicator to Elle that she was approaching outright rage.

She spoke in a dangerous sort of whisper. "You didn't mention a meeting with the prince, did you, Cinderella? Did you think yourself too good to share of your exploits?" She struck Elle across the face and Elle stumbled back, cradling her cheek. "The next time you embarrass us like that, I will toss you back into the ashes where you came from myself. Imagine if the prince had seen you and he judged this family based off of your horrible manners. What then? We'd have no chance at all now, would we?"

Madame turned from Elle, whose face was bleeding afresh from a hefty ring on Madame's hand, which scraped her when Madame struck her. Madame whisked away and into her room, and Perfinia followed.

Calliope watched them leave, and Perfinia turned to wait for her, but Calliope instead went into the kitchen, and Perfinia closed the door, a disapproving look on her face.

Calliope returned with a wet cloth, and she wiped the blood from Elle's face, staying quiet. Elle sat on a chair and didn't speak, and Calliope disappeared into her own room when Elle's face was clean, without uttering a word.

**A/N: I'm almost catching up with myself now, so I'm tweaking my deadline a bit. Expect the next chapter either next weekend or the weekend after that. I want to make sure I don't flunk out on you people or I know from experience that you don't take too kindly to that...**

**So take a chill pill on the chilly-whack bus. M'kay? Kay thanks. Just kidding I do my best to make sure you guys are happy and you all can get mad at me as much as you want because I live in 'merica and it's a damn freakin free country, y'all. What's that? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over my INDEPENDENCE.**

**LUVS**

**-Ana**


End file.
